


Pynk

by Hecatetheviolet



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Badass Ladies Living Life, Comfort Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy and Wholesome Lesbean Lovins, Healing, Lesbian Sex, Moving On, Rarepair, did i mention maris stella is there?, f/f - Freeform, ft. Maris Stella, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-07-25 18:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16203665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecatetheviolet/pseuds/Hecatetheviolet
Summary: They can't kiss again because Akira is covering her face, trying to contain her laughter. The very concept of Misatonot wanting to be watched by the catis the most hilarious thing in the world right now.





	Pynk

They didn't speak about Amon. Didn't sit and wax poetic about the shriveled corners of their hearts where they held his picture.

 

They didn't talk about work much, either. It was easy to forget it, anyway, in the pink of Misato's house.

 

Her whole house was absurdly cute: there were doilies on the backs of chairs, potted plants flowering on the tables, a lacy tablecloth pinned under Misato's thighs and the backs of Akira's hands. It was stiffly starched and scratchy, perfectly bleached save for the single drop of red wine from Akira's now empty glass as it rolled to bump into the floral centerpiece.

 

Misato moaned, and that, too, was cute.

 

Akira had moved in with her after a few months of - meeting. Talking. Kissing. It had felt less like dating and more like _coming home._ She had owned work clothes, plain dishes, an angelic cat, and a few books that Arima had given her. Misato had frowned, the expression strong, yet delicate in its delivery, and took her shopping. 

 

Akira - had never really lived with someone before. She'd lived with her father, and before that, she must have lived with both her parents. The only person to visit her city apartment had been Amon, the day he took care of her when she got embarrassingly drunk in public. Living with Misato is not like either of those.

 

Well. The amount of shirtless push-ups is about the same, actually. Those, however, are contained in the workout room. Occasionally the bedroom. Sometimes the back patio, drenched in sunlight and clean air.

 

They move to the bedroom. It's pastel pink. The comforter is a heavily embroidered floral quilt. It's the most comfortable thing Akira's ever slept on. Misato's mouth is still more comfortable, even against Akira's sensitive tongue, still scorched from the dark, bitter tea Misato preferred.

 

"Wait," Misato breathes from just too far away, and then moves. Akira shivers a little in the dark, wine-warm and heated and waiting. Her eyes haven't adjusted yet, so she can't tell what's happening off the bed, but it involves some shuffling, then an annoyed meow. The door opens then closes again.

 

"Sorry," Misato whispers somewhat sheepishly, climbing back on top of Akira. They can't kiss again because Akira is covering her face, trying to contain her laughter. The very concept of Misato _not wanting to be watched by the cat_ is the most hilarious thing in the world right now.

 

It's nothing Maris Stella hasn't seen before.

 

Akira's wonderful cat has born patient witness to the growing confidence and ease of their kisses, from fierce things in the dark to soft greetings in the morning over coffee, over tea, over months. Maris Stella understands. Maris Stella purrs her sweet, rusty purr when they both sit on the white couch and pet her together over a crime drama or one of Misato's expansive drama collection. Maris Stella has _definitely_ been hidden in the room while they fucked before. Been asleep on her crocheted bed in the corner of the living room while they panted on the couch. Bumped open the door to the bathroom while they were in the shower...

 

Maybe Misato's boundary setting is a little bit warranted after all. But that's okay. Akira loves her cat. Akira loves Misato. _Whatever helps them get along_.

 

Misato succeeds in removing Akira's hands from her face and replaces them with her mouth. It takes a few moments, in the gentle dark, to find each other's mouths.

 

Akira hadn't ever quite been self-conscious of her kissing, but compared to the absolute softness that Misato is able to pour into her with such ease, her own responses feel somewhat clinical in comparison. She'd never kissed anyone before Misato, and it feels like she'll never be able to kiss anyone else in her life. Her kisses have been shaped by Misato's lips, and that will never fade.

 

Somehow, that makes Akira happy.

 

She wants to make sure Misato knows this. So she finds her lost hands and navigates her way under Misato's pencil skirt - it's been ruched up from earlier and the fit between flesh and fabric is tight, squeezing Akira's hands into place on Misato's ass. _That's distracting._ Akira gets distracted.

 

It takes Misato's leg edging gently between her own and tightening her skirt further around Akira's hands to bring her back to attention. Too much wine earlier, probably. That always makes everything go so slowly. It's a good slow. Akira _likes_ wine.

 

Misato pulls away from her mouth, panting softly and brings her hands down from Akira's hips toward her own unzipped skirt, but Akira beats her there this time. She edges her hands forward under the tight fabric and then pushes it up entirely, running her thin fingers over firmly muscled flesh. Misato's panties are in the dining room.

 

She gets one hand on Misato's clit immediately and shoves the other one back under the tight fabric on her midriff because it feels nice. Misato moans and leans into the firm motions, resting her weight on her hands on either side of Akira, caging her in, making the plush bed dip further down. If it wasn't already so dark, Akira wouldn't be able to see anything except for Misato from this position. As it is, the slight moonlight from the half uncovered windows only illuminates the barest shapes, softening everything like a natural quilt, like the dark itself is part of Misato's house. Everything here seems to be a thing tamed by her lover - by Misato's incredible strength, her body and her will.

 

Although they are deadly people - although Akira is a deadly person - Misato doesn't let so much as the night itself press on Akira too harshly. Akira - Akira loves her so, so much.

 

She wants Misato to make her feel soft, always. She wants to feel Misato's whole strength on her body, holding her down, holding her steady, holding her together.

 

Akira drops her hand and lets Misato take over. _Guide her;_ replacing every alcohol sticky thought in her cruel, analytical head with pleasure, until all she can do is breathe and hold tight to the soft covers and feel like a soft, treasured thing in Misato's care.

 

It's wonderful. It always is.

 

Sometimes Akira just needs this - just needs to be held, a little. She's so used to being the strong woman in any room, in having to take care of herself tirelessly, that the ability to let go and have someone she loves take care of her for a change - it makes her feel whole. Misato fills in a gaping part of her heart that has nothing to do with Amon and only half to do with her father and everything to do with Akira.

 

And sometimes, it is Misato who wants to be held, and Akira can be gentle for her, instead. The susurrus of give and take between them feels like night and day, like food and water, like love and sex.

 

Akira - misses people. She grieves. Misato grieves for her own losses. Together, back to back, mouth to mouth, they heal.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay but Gori is an absolute butch unit? I love her. 
> 
> Just needed to get this poor draft out before it got deleted. Will fix it up later - for now, enjoy the concept of lesbians.
> 
> EDIT:  
> and then they adopt themselves a fresh haise and put up a Son Boy Allowed banner in the living room. Maris Stella tears it down.


End file.
